


hands on me (pretty please)

by suijin



Series: one thing i know (time will never wait on us) [1]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Jung Wooyoung, Canon Compliant, Coming In Pants, Dirty Talk, Dom Choi San, Dom/sub, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Hair-pulling, Humiliation, Hyung Kink, IM SO SORRY..........., M/M, Manhandling, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Rough Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Spanking, Sub Jung Wooyoung, Top Choi San, as in, mostly tho bc its undernegotiated, sending kq an apology gift basket now that ive posted this, uhhh based on THAT video
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:15:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26916463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suijin/pseuds/suijin
Summary: But then San's hand goes to wrap around his ponytail, still acting out whatever scene he was doing, andyanks.The reactions in the room greatly vary; Seonghwa bursts into laughter, the other members are shaking their heads at Wooyoung's expression and Wooyoung… Wooyoung is trying to figure out why he suddenly has a boner.What.Wait, what the fuck.(Or alternatively, Wooyoung wishes he never realised he was in love with San.)
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Series: one thing i know (time will never wait on us) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2029423
Comments: 50
Kudos: 660





	1. hate it when you leave me unattended

San likes Wooyoung's hair a little too much.

It's a well known fact, even to the fans, that his best friend liked it, considering he played with the hair at the base of Wooyoung's neck whenever he had the chance to get his hands on tanned skin. Wooyoung normally wouldn't question it, because they were best friends—or two halves of a whole, according to San—and because being clingy in general is practically a character trait of San's at this point.

That is exactly why when they're filming another video for the fans, Wooyoung doesn't suspect a thing when San's fingers sink into his hair, just leaning back into that familiar touch and ignoring the fond ache in his chest that came from his best friend being affectionate with him.

And it brings them to the present, where San's got his hand in Wooyoung's hair, which he had grown out for their comeback. It's a normal occurrence, and it doesn't raise any suspicion even though he's got his hair tied up for the show.

San's fingers smooth over his hair before going to tug a little at the ponytail, and Wooyoung isn't the slightest bit surprised when Seonghwa aims a camera at them, knowing it's the perfect kind of Woosan material that fans go apeshit over.

It isn't weird for them in the slightest, that San would be fixing Wooyoung's hair the way he wanted, and he knows San's all about pleasing the fans because he starts belting _The Moon of Seoul_ and fooling around, making funny faces like usual. And San ignoring Wooyoung's loud protests that he was going to mess up his look is nothing out of the ordinary, which is why the members don't even spare them a second glance.

At first, it's just a normal display of affection; San clinging onto Wooyoung and trying his utmost best to keep disturbing him while Wooyoung either returns the affection, pushes him away or stares off into the distance with a painfully unimpressed look on his face like he was a character on The Office. 

Today, it's the last option, and Wooyoung has since given up complaining and just stared into the camera like he wants to die (though he has to fight the urge to shove down the laugh that bubbles up at the sight of Seonghwa losing his mind on the other side of the camera). 

But then San's hand goes to wrap around his ponytail, still acting out whatever scene he was doing, and _yanks._

The reactions in the room greatly vary; Seonghwa bursts into laughter, the other members are shaking their heads at Wooyoung's expression and Wooyoung… Wooyoung is trying to figure out why he suddenly has a boner.

What.

Wait, what the fuck. 

He's mortified enough that as his palms press down into his lap, a horribly startled look overtakes his face before San's fingers tug again, even harder than before. It's hard enough that there's heat swirling in the pit of his gut and his thighs squeeze shut, thinking _what the fuck_ while San sings his heart out and then his arm is coming to hang over Wooyoung's shoulder.

Wooyoung has to keep smiling, and he's hoping to God nobody notices that he's currently in the midst of having a breakdown because San yanked his hair hard enough it hurt and he _liked_ it. 

He doesn't know if he likes it because he likes getting shoved around, which is complete news to him, or if it was because it was San roughing him up as opposed to the way he was always so sweet, tender in the way his nails scratched at the back of Wooyoung’s neck comfortingly and needy and clingy in the way he draped himself over Wooyoung’s frame and… and that's his best friend, _what the fuck,_ he shouldn't be thinking about his best friend like that.

Woosan was always just an act, a pair of affectionate friends who didn't mind playing up their relationship to tug at the heartstrings of their shippers.

So the question is, why the absolute fuck is he thinking about how it would feel like if San actually bent him over, fingers yanking at his hair while he laughed into his ear, _do you bend over for Eden-hyung like you're doing with me?_

Then San's arm is curling around his neck, close enough that it's brushing against the tanned skin his shirt wasn't covering. 

As if the hand in his hair isn't enough, because San's arm presses into him, and normally, it wouldn’t be a forceful movement because San tended to be gentle with him. 

San always took care of him, maybe because San is the youngest in his family and enjoyed being the one doing the babying for once, and well. Wooyoung isn’t one to complain when anyone looked after him, because he hasn’t gotten spoiled or doted on like this in a long time, and the fact that it was San meant a lot to him—because it was _San,_ his best friend, and also because his parents had even asked San himself to do exactly that.

Which brings them to the point, San may fuck around and tease Wooyoung but never once had he touched Wooyoung in a way that wasn’t kind and loving. And yet, those fingertips graze his collarbone through his shirt before they dig in, nails almost sinking into his skin, a sight that Wooyoung knows won't be picked up by the camera because it wasn’t obvious in the slightest.

And he can't help the way his imagination completely takes over, mind barely able to focus on the way San was actually tugging at his ponytail while Seonghwa laughed at them, because there are a myriad of images whizzing around until it lands on what his brain deemed the best:

San’s large frame hulking over him, thick fingers fisting his hair to keep him still while he fucked into Wooyoung, hips rolling in a grind just as filthy as his groans, voice all rough and hoarse as he laughs _slut_ under his breath, those goddamn hands leaving Wooyoung’s long locks to go and wrap around his neck and—

Oh my God.

 _Oh my God,_ he thinks, absolutely horrified by how his day was going, by how his best friend is literally right behind him, all smiles and laughter while he thinks about that same face looming above him as he gets fucked hard enough it hurt, hard enough that it had him crying and still begging for more. 

And then there's San's forearm is pressing now, pushing him back just hard enough he knows no one else but him could pick up on the way he sharply inhales, breath trapped in his throat because what the fuck is this, his sexual awakening?

His dick clearly seems to think so, judging by the way his pants got tighter by the second. 

San's arm leaves him, head dropping close to his ear, bursting into a fit of giggles for getting to do what he just did and then Seonghwa stops recording.

And then there's their manager calling out to them and everyone springs into action, gathering their things and getting ready to go back home, and Wooyoung almost cries in relief when San steps away, because he’s horny and also in the midst of a nervous breakdown and it doesn’t take a genius to know that that is most definitely _not_ a good combination.

He has to take off his jacket and wrap it around his waist to hide himself even while he’s shuffling to their van, feet anxious as they patter as quickly as possible because he just wants to get home and hide away and overthink some more about his newfound attraction to his best friend, his other half, his soulmate. 

But it's more than difficult because Seonghwa notices his expression in immediate seconds from when they fall in step together, and he nudges Wooyoung slightly with concerned eyes.

“Hey, you good?” His voice is comforting but it doesn’t help much, because he’s seconds from panicking both in humiliation and horror at the fact that he got hard because of his _best friend,_ and because his best friend pulled his _hair._

“Fine,” is the only response he can manage to get out, the lump in his throat too thick for any words to climb out of his throat. Seonghwa's eyebrows furrow, clearly not buying Wooyoung’s horrible response but luckily chooses not to comment on it, knowing Wooyoung would bring it up when he was ready.

(Of course he won’t—or rather he can’t, because how the _fuck_ was he supposed to explain his newly awakened kink? Or the fact that he wanted _San_ to do that?)

Seonghwa just hums, throwing his arm around Wooyoung’s shoulder to tug him in closer before he’s murmuring, “Okay. We’re here if you wanna talk about it though.”

And _of course_ San just has to walk past them at that very moment, ears perking up the second those lips leave Seonghwa's lips, and then he’s pushing the older man away a bit to drape himself over Wooyoung, again, “Talk about what?”

He sounds so curious, and Wooyoung hates that those three words are enough to send his heart into a frenzy, thudding violently within his rib cage hard enough that his chest ached and tears immediately spring to his eyes, and he can’t help that he shoves San off him in his panic. 

“Nothing,” he says curtly, and god, the way San flinches back in surprise, eyes wide at his tone, lips parting in shock hurts because he never pushes San away, not like that.

“Oh,” he says finally, and the words come out slowly. “Did I—did I do something—”

“Nope.”

San must notice the way Wooyoung’s lips tremble, eyes wet and intent as if to say _please don’t ask,_ that he just shoves his hands in his pockets, backing away a little, blinking before that look on his face is gone. 

“Okay,” he says, sounding way too calm for a moment where Wooyoung had snapped at him for no apparent reason. The way his face had shuttered off, going blank in seconds, is enough to have Wooyoung’s heart sinking, reaching out to take the soft cotton of San’s shirt because despite how nonchalant San had looked, there was that little bit of hurt that bled out with his response. 

He takes one more step back, nearly crashing into Yunho, and he repeats, voice stiff, “Okay.”

And then he’s walking away from them, a confused Yunho hanging onto his arm, and he has to fight the urge to bury his face in his hands when Seonghwa pats him again sympathetically. 

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i never post but find me on twitter: @s_uijin


	2. could you help me slow it down?

Wooyoung was avoiding San.

It's been a few days since The Incident, as Wooyoung lovingly referred to it, and he spends most of his free time in between practice and promotions looking at anywhere but San, and he doesn’t really try to go after San either like he had used to. 

He’s been struggling to hold the simplest conversations with the man, even about what to have for dinner, because he’s unable to do much other than blink repeatedly at the wall, fazing out and getting lost in thought in seconds flat, busy trying to figure out how he’s going to live with the knowledge that he’s into super kinky sex.

Or that he’s had a crush on his best friend for years and apparently never knew about it.

Or that he’s into super kinky sex, but only with said best friend (because if all of his research the past week about BDSM had yielded any results, it was that Wooyoung hadn’t ever felt _that_ turned off seeing all those filthy displays while imagining doing it with literally _anyone_ else).

Sure, he’s not _very_ vanilla in bed, having spent the night with enough people who enjoyed a light smack here and there, definitely adventurous enough to have a safeword, but as an idol, he’s never had the time to do anything more than have a quick fuck in a hotel room or a public bathroom. 

He’s always known he liked fun sex, pretty in all the ways he begged and filthy in all the lines he threw over his shoulder, provoking and teasing so he got fucked good. Or even on the days he switched it up, slotting himself between the legs of a fellow idol and running his fingers through their hair.

The point is, he’s never thought of anyone yanking him by the hair hard enough to fuck him back on their cock, and he’s most definitely never once thought of anyone fitting their palm under his jaw and squeezing, because if he was being entirely honest with himself, he is a bit of a control freak. He likes having control, likes being the one in charge in everything he does, and maybe that’s why this surprising turn of events is fucking him up that bad.

Which brings him to this moment, neck deep in a position he had never expected to find himself in, anchored by the thought of someone finally taking over and treating him like the brat that he was.

And he hates that the fact that said _someone_ is San only makes him want it even more.

(Yeosang had a field day and almost burst a lung laughing when Wooyoung had come into their room, not knowing what to do, looking pitiful and just downright miserable. His only response had just been _only took you years to figure it out, huh,_ before he took Wooyoung into his arms because he had simply burst into tears.)

Now, San and Seonghwa were seated across from him, eating and talking about what they were going to do for their joint V-Live that was coming up in a few days.

So yeah, he’s got a raging crush. Or a raging boner. Or both.

(Definitely both.)

Wooyoung’s eyes have yet to leave the inches of skin that San’s loose t-shirt revealed whenever he shifted, the alabaster of his neck dipping into those deep collarbones of his. His gaze travels downwards to stare at the way those forearms had looked under the lighting, stiffening when he leaned forward to hand Seonghwa a plate, those flexible wrists extending to those goddamn hands, pale and veiny before leading to those knuckles, firm and ruddy and thick and—and _that’s_ the fucking problem. 

He had never once even thought of San as a sexual being before this, much too used to their immediate friendzone of each other, and he had always figured that just like himself, San had also considered anything beyond physical intimacy designated for best friends to be out of the question. Of course, he’s no stranger to how San looks; he would have to consider himself blind if he didn’t at the least acknowledge that San was pretty with those high cheekbones and slanted eyes of his.

But he would be a complete idiot if he didn’t acknowledge that San was _attractive_ —hot, sexy even in the way he talks when he and Wooyoung are alone, his usual pitch dropping, fond even when it goes low with satoori on the tip of his tongue, rough murmurs and whispers that are horribly warm against his neck, his ears. 

Wooyoung hates himself for liking those— _things_ —in bed, but he hates himself even more for realising he liked San because of that. 

He knows it's not usual, but he wants it so bad, especially when San looks like _that,_ now that he’s working out a lot more with their ongoing promotions.

He’s more on the lean end, just like Wooyoung himself, and he’s not even that much taller but it's as if Wooyoung was blind and now can suddenly see because now all he keeps noticing during practice (and anywhere else) is how San’s arms look, breath hitching when his eyes land on how San’s so much bigger than him, all broad shoulders, forearms thick and how obscene his shirt looks clinging to his skin, soaked in sweat. 

He’s too wrapped up in his thoughts that it takes Seonghwa waving a hand in front of his face for him to snap back to the present.

“Wooyoung? Did you hear what I said?” 

“Uh,” he says dumbly, and flushes when San snorts. He has to resist the urge to facepalm once he sees Seonghwa’s nose scrunch, because the pinched expression meant he was in for a lecture.

“Okay, seriously, what is going on with you?” Seonghwa starts, and Wooyoung barely manages to stop himself from wincing. He knew he was in for it now; he’s been horribly obvious in the way he was avoiding almost all types of contact from everyone sans Yeosang.

"Nothing," he says, and it's about the least believable thing to have ever come out of his mouth because Seonghwa just sends him a flat look.

"Uh-huh, right," Seonghwa says, hand not even lifting his chopsticks anymore, just staring in disbelief.

San snorts again.

Fuck.

"No, seriously, I'm good," he continues, looking back down at his food. His voice sounds weak even to his own ears, and he has never hated that he couldn't lie for shit to the members as much as he did right now.

"Sure, but you know what I think?" San comments then, and the way his eyes crinkle as his lips curve into a sly smile is enough to know he's joking, just playing around like he always does. "I think you're just stressed out with promotions."

"What?"

The words that follow have him feeling like he just got hit by a truck.

"Judging by how you're doing in practice, I think the fanservice is just too much for you. You know, the whole Woosan part in Inception.”

"What do you mean?" Seonghwa says, and he looks painfully confused, big eyes even wider while he tilts his head. "You've never had a problem with it before, Young-ah."

And San's... not wrong. It's getting increasingly difficult sliding his hand down San's cheek and making eye contact while San's fingertips brush against his neck, but he had never expected San to actually pick up on it. He could just throw back an excuse about how it was tiring keeping up fanservice like _that,_ but he doesn’t, and he doesn't know why. 

"Oh my God, did you finally realise you'd have a lot less sexual tension in your life without me?" 

It's a joke.

Maybe it's because as soon as those words leave San's mouth, Wooyoung feels his face get warm. He can _feel_ himself blushing hard at the thought of being potentially caught, heat climbing onto his cheeks embarrassingly quick, suddenly feeling incredibly mortified. San is perceptive, observant, but it seems Wooyoung has underestimated just how much. 

But it's a joke. 

It has to be, because San snickers, and Seonghwa follows, and he looks like a deer in headlights.

When he tries to speak, he chokes on his words.

"What the _hell,_ ” Wooyoung replies, words slurred all together as he tries to recover from the blow. Maybe it’s not too late to save it, still. He could still brush it off. “No, what the fuck. I'm just… tired, alright?”

“I'm just joking,” San laughs, his voice incredibly light in amusement, clearly happy he got his fill of messing with Wooyoung like usual. Wooyoung just stares, and San laughs again. God, Wooyoung is going to _kill_ him. And himself. Both. “It’s okay, Youngie, I know I look good.”

“I wasn’t _looking_ ,” Wooyoung replies now, defiant, sitting up and looking right at San, who seems to be enjoying this way too much for his own good. It seems both of them have almost forgotten that Seonghwa was sitting right there, right next to them. "And besides, why would anyone look at you when they can just look at me?"

“So then why are you blushing now?”

And that takes Wooyoung off guard, has him thrown completely off-kilter, because he hadn't expected San to bring it up. He should have, because he knows San was never one to beat around the bush in the first place. But to be so upfront about it, even if it was unintentional and a complete joke thrown at him with the purpose of giving him a hard time… that, he wasn't prepared for. 

In his head, he's already made peace with the face that he has a crush on his best friend. Or at the very least, he's trying to.

He had decided that there was an unspoken agreement to not talk about it, or ever bring up their fanservice to spare them both the embarrassment that comes from being way too touchy with one's best friend. And having San not only bring this up now, but also in such a… teasing manner, does something to Wooyoung's insides.

Panic swirls in his gut much like the heat that almost immediately starts licking at the base of his spine at the memory of what he had thought of while he jerked off in the shower that morning.

(San's head between his legs.

San's hands on his waist.

San's lips dragging down his spine.

San's gentle voice taking him apart.

San, San, _San._ )

“I’m not blushing,” Wooyoung denies, knowing full well that San can see he’s lying to his face. If his cheeks look half as flushed as they feel, a violent burn that lapped at his skin, then it’s more than obvious that he’s flustered. 

“You’re lying,” San replies, voice almost in a sing-song.

"No, I'm not," Wooyoung holds San's gaze for a second, but it’s not too long before he has to look away, because San's grin is growing by the second. 

“Mhm, whatever you say.”

"Hey," Seonghwa cuts in, and Wooyoung has never felt more grateful to have those watchful eyes and that goddamned smirk leave his face. "Did you see the group chat?"

It seems Seonghwa stopped listening ages ago, because apparently a conversation like this between the two of them is just too normal at this point. San has gone back to eating.

"What about it?" Wooyoung says, clearing his throat.

San isn't looking at him anymore. 

Wooyoung can faintly hear Seonghwa saying something about Mingi almost burning the kitchen down but that everything is okay now, and Wooyoung is about to ask something again, not sure exactly what since his brain stopped functioning a while ago—but the words lodge in his throat like sticky whipped cream when San pops his thumb in his mouth and sucks it clean with a quiet little hum of delight.

 _"Ihavetogotothetoilet,"_ he practically yells, and flees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i never post but find me on twitter: @s_uijin


	3. need your hands on me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **DISCLAIMER:**  
>  \- the kinks are not negotiated, but woo enjoys it  
> \- it is safe, sane and consensual but only because san actually knows what he is doing! please do not take this as how scenes are conducted in real life! this is just a work of fiction, some fun porn i wanted to write because i felt like feeding the horny masses!!!  
> \- aftercare! the morning after talk was included because san's a responsible dom and they didn't discuss before doing the do <3
> 
> if any of these makes you uncomfortable, feel free to click away and not read! if not, then i sincerely hope you enjoy this horny mess hehe
> 
> and it is done! 14k of porn and the inevitable morning after scene.... i had a blast writing this even if it took me almost two months, and i hope you all equally enjoy reading it! let me know what you all think and what ur fave bits were in the comments because reading them make me super happy!!!! big love thank u for reading mwah mwah <3 <3 <3

They’re nearing the end of their promotions for THANXX when San finally corners Wooyoung, just two days after Wooyoung freaked out and ran out of the cafeteria.

Most of them practically lived at the studio these days, already working on their next album. It was nearing night when Wooyoung had left, eyes bloodshot with the familiar lack of sleep, too exhausted with juggling work and his feelings (and by extension, his libido) that he had shrugged San off with a muttered _bye,_ nodding at the stylist-noona who tells him they’ll be cutting his hair soon, before leaving and going straight home.

He wanted to be alone but he clearly failed to think his plan through, because San comes home a mere thirty minutes after he gets ready to go to bed.

Wooyoung had just taken a shower and was in the middle of getting ready for bed, only dressed in a pair of briefs while he picked out a shirt to wear, when _it_ happens. 

He is seconds from knocking out from the sheer exhaustion that tugged at his eyelids and had his feet anchored to the ground, and honestly, he thinks he deserves a good night’s rest. What he doesn’t deserve, however, is a knock at his door the second he gets cosy and ready to sleep, a quiet _tap-tap-tap_ that has his senses flaring up, sound grating on his nerves immediately because there is only one person who knocks like that.

_San._

Then his voice comes, honeyed and warm despite the muffle, “Wooyoung? Can I come in?”

And Wooyoung is too gone to say no, even though the word practically sits at the tip of his tongue. Instead, he tugs his shirt on, and replies, “Yeah.”

San shuffles in, feet dragging against the hardwood floor, and Wooyoung’s heart aches a little when he catches sight of the way San’s biting his lip hard enough it looks like it would bleed, eyes averted and expression crestfallen, clearly uncomfortable, painfully confused and just downright _miserable._

Wooyoung doesn’t blame him, they’ve always been attached at the hip, and he knows avoiding San would have made the other man feel upset, or insecure, about their relationship but he just couldn’t help it. Not when he was ready to climb San the second he was in the man’s immediate vicinity.

"Can we talk?" San says, painfully quiet.

And Wooyoung is nothing if not a Master Avoider, which is why he goes back to thumbing at the knob on his drawer, playing dumb. "About what?"

"I just," San starts. The pause that follows is heavy, silence stretching out for miles that Wooyoung can almost taste the distance between them, both literally and the space that he had willingly shoved between him and San. It doesn't feel good, like a pill that's hard to swallow. "I just wanted to know if we're okay."

It takes mere milliseconds to shove the feeling back down his throat. 

The words are bitter on his tongue. "Of course." 

"You know I was just joking, right? About the whole Woosan thing?" 

And _that_ does not feel good. "Yup."

"Really? Because I thought I went too far that day and pissed you off or something and just wanted to—"

"We're good. Don't worry about it."

"Are we?" comes San's immediate response, and he tiredly shuts his eyes, bringing a hand up to rub his forehead at the oncoming headache. He appreciated San's quips, that sharp tongue and quick mind but of all the times he could be serious, this was not it. "Because you won't even look at me anymore."

And another thing that Wooyoung excelled at other than avoiding anything he didn't want to do, is bullshitting. 

He simply looks up, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

San just sends him a flat look. “Are you for real.”

It’s not even a question.

Wooyoung just shrugs, looking away. The floor suddenly seems like the most interesting thing on the planet if it meant he didn’t have to keep looking at those intent eyes that have been trained on him since San had walked inside minutes ago. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, man.”

"Seriously? You're not even gonna talk to me?"

"There's nothing to talk about." 

“Why can’t you just be honest with me?” San snaps at him, and his gaze would have been unreadable to anyone else but Wooyoung knows exactly what he’s searching for and there it is; his face is blank but his eyes are a dead giveaway, gaze burning into him while the words come out cold and bitter, clipped in a way that made Wooyoung’s chest ache.

But once Wooyoung’s brain gets past the tone and the words that slipped past San’s gritted teeth register, his blood is boiling. 

_How dare he,_ he thinks furiously, how dare he say that when he’s the one who pretended the most in front of the fans, fingers never leaving Wooyoung’s skin, nails scratching at the back of his neck or head dropped onto his shoulder or even how their legs tangle together in private while he talks about Woosan to their fans. And maybe that’s the reason why he doesn’t even stop to think about what he’s about to say and it's undeniable consequences before he hisses right back, _“I'm_ not the fucking liar.”

San’s head rears back, and there’s an incredulous expression that takes over his face, disbelief bleeding into his voice when he replies, dumbfounded, “What—lying? When have I ever lied?” 

“Woosan!” Wooyoung bursts, and his voice is borderline hysterical at this point, and he can't stop his hands from shaking as he spits out, acid burning on his tongue. "It's a fucking lie! It's not real, San! It's just an act and—and that was always the plan but it's never gonna be anything but an act and—"

"An act?" San's voice goes impossibly low, and it sends shivers down Wooyoung's spine because he looks calm. Sounds calm, too. Way too calm for the moment, but his eyes are intense, shoulders tense, overwhelming in the way his gaze doesn't leave Wooyoung's frame, and that's enough for Wooyung to know that San was _pissed._

Wooyoung can't help but feel like one of those gazelles in nature documentaries, because looking at San looking back at him feels like staring at a lion full in the face with nowhere to run.

"Is that what this is about?” San says, and if Wooyoung didn’t know any better he would have thought San didn’t really care. But one look at the glint in his eyes is enough to have Wooyoung swallowing thickly, blood running cold at the sight of fury hot as magma flaring in that gaze of his, dark and heavy and Wooyoung regrets his outburst instantly. He was always told he talked too much. “You’re mad because we need to pretend?”

But Wooyoung knows it's on him; The words fall flat between them, and he knows he spoke out of turn—hell, he’s never had a problem with this before so it was obvious San would be confused and deeply upset. And him snapping at San like there was no tomorrow obviously didn’t help matters either, considering San was more than willing to extend an olive branch in hopes of stitching this raw wound shut, murmur apologies into his skin like it was the salve that would heal—mend—their crumbling friendship. 

He knows it's his fault, even when San takes two steps forward, the soft padding of his feet hushed against the floor.

“Stop,” is the only thing he can say, and San stops just a few feet away from where he is standing by his wardrobe, fingers fisting the soft cotton of his shirt. He finds himself unable to look away from San’s eyes that stay fixated on him, and he struggles to find the words and hates that his mouth betrays him and keeps going, “Just. Forget it. Act like this never happened. Conversation over.”

“No,” San says, and his voice comes out cold this time, biting and intended to hurt. He looks like he’s searching for answers in the strained muscles in Wooyoung’s arms and the tired look on his face, and he’s spectacularly failing at it. “You don’t get to shut me out. Not you.”

“That’s the thing, though!” Wooyoung snaps. "It's always about what you want, huh?"

"The fuck does that mean?" 

"I'm saying," Wooyoung starts, "I want you to fuck off." 

Each word is said slowly, letters enunciated mocking as if Wooyoung was speaking to a child and judging by the way San's eyes darkened, he was offended. 

Wooyoung doesn't blame him.

"Tell me why and I will." 

Fuck. 

It doesn't take a genius to tell that San is being serious. It's obvious in the way he almost grits the words out, fists clenched on either side, forearms stiff from trying to restrain himself from marching over to Wooyoung and punching him, probably. 

And yet he doesn't want to say it. 

Because he knows then it'll become real. At one point, he could have ignored it, but then he had told Yeosang the truth. Even then, he could have denied it all he wanted with San. 

The only problem is that San won't stop until he has the answers that he wants. 

The lie burns his tongue but he says it anyway, "I'm just tired, okay? I don't have the time for this."

"No," San snaps. "We've been best friends long enough that I deserve an explanation for why you're shutting me out."

"Maybe I don't _want_ to be best friends anymore," Wooyoung retorts, and he immediately regrets it. 

The words fall a bit like stones into the puddle that was their relationship, and the ripples that come forth are visible on San’s face, jaw clenched so hard he almost worries that it might break. The shift in the mood is almost tangible; he can feel it in the way San’s fists are clenched, can taste it in the way San’s tongue peeks out to wet his lip, and he can see it in the way San takes a deep breath. 

God, he really should have learnt how to keep his mouth shut.

"Yeah?" San asks—or says, really, his eyebrows raised, incredulous. He takes a small step forward, and Wooyoung barely manages to hold back his flinch, but that and the fact that his gaze immediately returns to the floor is more than enough for San to know the truth. "That's a load of bull and you know it."

"I’m sorry, what?"

"I'm saying," San says slowly, mocking, "I call bullshit."

It's a different kind of bitter feeling that fills him up when he realises San’s throwing his words right back at him, tone condescending, and Wooyoung's head snaps back up to glare at San but he falters because when did San get so close? 

He's standing right in front of Wooyoung now, leaning in, and every nerve ending in his body is on fire, and, yeah, he’s fucked. San’s watching him, eyes narrowed just like before, but something about this stare is different, because he can vaguely feel just his briefs getting tighter around him and fuck, is he really getting hard just by the way San looks at him while pushing him back into the wall? 

“Maybe, that’s good, then,” San says, voice rough, and his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and Wooyoung is a goner. But then he continues, “Because I don’t want to be _friends_ with you either.”

“What?”

“This, the fanservice? That is our job but at the end of the day, none of that matters. You know why?”

And… Wooyoung doesn’t know what else to say. Maybe because out of all the things he had expected San to say, this was not one of them. San was always the one who did the chasing, when it came to his goals and even his friends. Anything he wanted, he got because he wasn’t the type to give up. 

“The problem, Wooyoung, I think is that you don't want to pretend anymore and that scares you.”

Fuck.

The fact that San could say that as easily as he did has his heart sinking, but only for a second, because San’s hands reach out, cupping his face. It’s gentle for a split second before his fingers press into his skin _hard._

And then they drag down, nails scratching along his cheekbones gently, sliding down his jaw before they stop at his neck. San isn’t even pressing down, fingers simply resting, but Wooyoung inhales sharply nonetheless because just the mere gesture is enough to have his dick go from half mast to rock hard in his pants and holy shit, he thinks, because San’s thumbs digs under his jaw.

“Tell me to back off and I will,” San rasps, breath hot against his ear. “We can forget this ever happened.” 

He can only nod in response, a few beats too late.

“I need words, Wooyoung,” San snaps.

“Do your worst,” he breathes out.

And then San’s fingers are sinking into his hair, pulling him closer by the hair and—and he's kissing Wooyoung.

It only lasts for a few heartbeats, a warm press of lips. San’s fingers tug a little at his hair and then Wooyoung’s tensing, frozen, unable to move.

It’s good. 

It’s warm, he thinks. Surprisingly innocent, despite the reason this had happened in the first place. It’s nothing obscene, not very chaste but simple, genuine and maybe even gentle even though San was pressing into him hard enough he was pushed against the wall.

It’s really fucking good.

And that’s when he realises he’s not responding, because he feels the tense beginning at San’s frame against his and ending where their mouths met. 

San breaks away but doesn’t pull back, breath warm against his mouth all the same, and judging by the way his eyes stare, mouth opening, he can tell there is some sort of explanation, or even an apology, sitting on his tongue.

He doesn’t know why, because he said yes.

He said yes.

So he leaves no room for San to give either of them, because he’s pressing back in again, kissing San back with a kind of hunger that punches the air out of their lungs. It’s desperate and filthy enough that San groans when Wooyoung whimpers against his lips, wrapping his arms around the taller man’s neck and gathering him closer and closer.

When one of San’s hands slip down to slide under the hem of his shirt, rough palm dragging up along the plane of his back, he can’t help the gasp that slips out. It’s so hard not to press into the touch of San’s palms, big and warm, so Wooyoung lets himself shiver at the touch.

“San—”

“Hey,” San whispers when Wooyoung groans quietly, pressing into him as much as he could with his back against the wall, arms dropping to try and get the hem of San’s shirt up and over his head. “Young-ah, wait.”

“Um,” Wooyoung says, pulling his hands away. The fabric of San's shirt falls down the length of his back with a soft sound when he lets go. “Fuck. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Shut up.”

“Oh.”

"You said it's always about what I want," San murmurs, and the way his hands tighten around his hips makes Wooyoung flush. The words almost leave a bitter taste on his tongue, but once he takes a minute to think about it, his thighs immediately squeeze together. "This is me asking. What do you want?" 

"I…" he starts, and his mind blanks on him. 

What does he want? 

He never expected to get into this situation at all. Not today. Not ever.

Never once in his life had he ever imagined he would be kissing San like this, let alone touching him at all, really, so to suddenly be in this position regardless of whether he had wanted it subconsciously or not blindsided him. The answer is there, he knows. It’s right there, at the very forefront of his mind like it has been for days now, waiting to be said. Maybe that’s why the words slip without him really thinking about it.

"Red," Wooyoung blurts out.

San's eyebrows furrow as a painfully confused expression takes over his face. "What?"

"Red," he starts, and promptly flushes. He's so fucking embarrassed, but there's nothing to lose at this point, he thinks. "That's—red's my safeword." 

And _that_ leaves absolutely no room for misunderstandings, and the way San's eyes flash makes him shiver.

And then San is all over him, hands roaming the expanse of honey skin until nails are digging hard enough to leave half-moons behind, bruises forming by the time San gets his mouth on him, not at all gentle in the way he usually is. Not at all gentle like he was just now.

There’s a sigh so soft and content that comes from San that makes him whimper, and the other man’s fingers dance on his stomach before they tug at the hem of his shirt, and then he’s pulling away to tug it off, mouth immediately following and dragging wet kisses down Wooyoung’s neck, tongue laving across the skin before biting down on his collarbone.

Then San shoves his knee between Wooyoung’s legs, and presses hard between his thighs and Wooyoung’s eyes roll back in seconds.

The moan that bubbles up is just downright obscene when San’s hands slide down to his hips before grabbing his ass and yanking him close, pulling hard enough that he’s grinding down on San’s thigh. 

“You’re gonna come like this,” San says softly, voice gentle, and Wooyoung can’t stop the groan that slips at the mere thought of him grinding on San’s thigh like he was some type of dog until he came. It's the filthiest thing, one that he has never once even thought of, and now that San’s planted the idea in his head, he can’t help but press down a little harder. “You’re gonna come just like this and then I’ll help, okay?”

By now, he’s lost almost all ability to think, unable to stop from flushing in embarrassment because the only thought that sticks out in his head is that San is making him get off on his thigh like this, barely able to breathe at the way his hips are easing into a filthy grind, steady but hard. 

“Sannie,” Wooyoung gasps wetly as he pulls back, head hitting the wall as he stares hazily at San who’s still crowding him, keeping him pinned to the wall.

“C’mon, baby,” San murmurs, voice already rough with desire, words of encouragement pressed into Wooyoung’s neck before his tongue peeks out to lick. “I told you I’ll take care of you, didn’t I? Just gotta come, hm?”

Wooyoung can only manage a jerky nod, one he knows that San can feel because he’s still mouthing at his neck. 

He doesn’t even know how he’s managing to stay upright like this, when his legs are threatening to give in when San’s lips leave his, dragging against his cheek before latching onto his neck and biting down softly. He can’t stop the whimper that tumbles out of his mouth when he feels San’s lips curve into a smirk against his skin, flushing when San presses his thigh in harder. 

“Look at you,” San huffs a laugh, and Wooyoung has to bite down on his tongue to stop the loud moan that’s threatening to burst out of him at the contrast between San gently squeezing his waist and the rough grind of denim through his briefs. “What, gonna come in your pants like a virgin?”

And fuck, if that isn’t hot, the way those words leave goosebumps erupting all over his skin, because it was just so _humiliating,_ getting off on his best friend’s leg like this. Even worse that he really was going to come in mere minutes if San kept this up.

Then San’s whispering, voice filled with laughter while he presses in, “Pathetic.”

Fuck.

San’s hand reaches up to his hip again and there’s an obscene moan that climbs out of his throat when San shoves him into the wall again. He hates that he’s already got tears lining his eyes, apple red staining his cheeks, leading down to his neck, panting harshly into San’s mouth just by feeling his head hit the wall as those nails dig into his skin. 

The knocking of their hips together is anything but awkward, a surprising revelation considering they’ve been friends for years. But Wooyoung can’t find it in himself to complain, every hushed groan of _please, Sannie_ melting on his tongue the harder San rocks into him. His hands fly up to claw at San’s broad shoulders, hips stuttering, scrambling for some type of purchase as San presses into him, hands squeezing as he made Wooyoung grind against his thigh.

Then San’s hips jolt, rutting against Wooyoung’s hip, and he malfunctions because it was one thing to have San getting him off, but it was an entirely different thing to have San getting off with him. And that is San’s cock, hard and heavy, pressing through his jeans against his thigh, and San groans when Wooyoung rocks against him in response.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby,” San murmurs. “Just like that.”

And he can’t help but whine at that, tugging San back up for a kiss, sloppy and wet and filthy in the best of ways.

It's the sound that San lets out into his mouth that makes him move, desperately clinging to San, sinking his nails into the skin through thin cotton, spreading his legs wider and burying his face into San’s neck before he ruts against his thigh, hips moving in circles to get the angle just right. 

He needs it so bad, and he can’t help the strangled sob that slips out when one of San’s hands goes to thumb at his cheek fondly before reaching up and tugging playfully at his hair.

The pause is so miniscule that Wooyoung barely notices it, but San is immediately moving to slot his leg between Wooyoung’s properly and pressing their chests together as close as he can. 

Then he’s fisting Wooyoung’s hair, yanking his head back, and Wooyoung’s hips immediately stutter, a gasp slipping out, and the grin that takes over San’s face is dark and wicked once he realises why Wooyoung is suddenly looking a million times more embarrassed than he already was.

“Oh,” San breathes, lips curving into that sly smile, looking more than a little humoured that this was what was going on. “And to think all this time I thought you were avoiding me because I hurt you…”

Wooyoung can’t help but swallow thickly at that, because San’s looking at him like he wants to eat him alive. 

"When really you just needed someone to throw you around and play with you, huh?"

Holy shit.

And then San’s pushing forward even harder, and the denim of his jeans hurt even through the layers in a burn so delicious it has him almost sobbing. It's simultaneously enough and not enough—it’s humiliating in the best of ways but it's not enough, he wants to get even closer, wants San all over him, needs to feel his skin brushing against his own. There aren’t even that many layers separating them but it's still too much, and Wooyoung _needs._

God, he needs it so fucking bad.

Just the wet slide of their mouths together has Wooyoung pressing his thighs together as much as he can, and San’s hand pressing into the small of his back is insistent, a grounding feeling when his other hand is still fisting his hair. 

He feels much too hyperaware, body thrumming in oversensitivity, a state he never reaches unless he’s at practice, working his ass off for his fans. Even the sound of their clothes rustling against each other and the groan San lets out into his mouth grate on his ears, and he can’t help the violent red that takes over his face when he realises he’s already making a mess of his shorts, the material damp and catching onto his warm skin.

And that’s when he realises he’s honestly going to come in seconds, just like San had wanted.

He doesn't know when his eyes had slipped shut, but they're squeezed so tightly now that he's seeing colours drifting across the darkness of his eyelids, fleeting in all the ways shapes morphed into blurry edges. Vaguely, he registers the feeling of a single tear forcing its way out of his eye and rolling down his cheek, but he’s too busy fighting a wail down to notice.

And then it _slams_ into him, sending a shock through his entire body and making him toss his head back. His hips jerk forward erratically, frantically grinding down into San’s thigh in filthy circles, cock twitching as it soaks through his briefs. 

"Good boy," San murmurs. 

His thighs quiver violently and his knees become completely liquid, and the only reason he’s even standing at this point is because San has him pinned to the wall and the combination of that thought and the high is enough to allow a trembling whine to rumble in his throat.

And then San huffs a laugh into his neck before he’s pulling away, murmuring, “Strip and get on the bed. I’ll be right back.”

With that, he’s crossing the room and stepping out, probably to go into his room, and it doesn’t even take Wooyoung any longer than five seconds before he’s shoved down his briefs, not caring about the mess, and in his bed. 

If this were any other random stranger, Wooyoung wouldn’t be as nervous. 

He’s no stranger to sex, just like any other idol. Wooyoung has spent the night with his fair share of partners, and the MAMA awards were practically a fuckfest, if last year was any indication. He knows that most of the members weren’t virgins, considering he’s seen most of them do the walk of shame, San being one of them.

But that’s the thing. San isn’t a stranger, and he’s about to rail Wooyoung into the mattress in a matter of minutes.

Just the mere thought of San sliding into him is enough to have his breath hitching, heat swirling in his gut, and he can’t help but let go of the sheets that he’d been gripping, one hand sliding over his hip to wrap around himself, falling into a steady rhythm as he jerks himself off. 

He’s never felt relief this strong before, not even from when he got to rub one out in the shower after a long day at work. He can feel tears gathering in the corner of his eye at the filthy sound that comes from him, legs spreading at the loud groan that slips out at the feeling of finally being touched, and the wet squelches that follow.

Maybe that’s why his legs drop, body relaxing, because even if it felt good, he still felt empty. It still wasn’t San. 

And maybe that’s why he lifts one leg up, reaching his free hand down to rub lightly at his hole. A moan makes it's way out of his mouth once he feels the light pressure, dry but insistent, as his wrist twisted to give himself the pleasure that he’d been denying himself for long enough, thoughts of San fucking him into his bed swirling in his head. 

It's when he turns his head to a side to muffle his loud moan that he notices San standing by the doorway, only in his briefs, lube and condoms in his hand while he watches on, eyes never straying from the filthy sight of Wooyoung getting himself off like this, sprawled out on the bed like he is San’s for the taking. 

Wooyoung feels a shiver wrack his spine, a high whine forcing its way out of his throat at the way San eyes him, jaw clenched as his fair skin melts into that goddamn look, insistent gaze paired up with narrow eyes and pursed lips.

Wooyoung's hand comes to an abrupt stop, swallowing thickly once his eyes lock with San's, body already aching with a want for cock, a need to get filled up by San in every way possible. He needs it so bad he can't help but drop his legs and let San take in the view, thighs spread open, hand messy with his come while he gave himself another stroke. 

"Touch me," he says, the plea tasting like caramel on his tongue, voice lilting into a high whine. 

San doesn't give any obvious reaction to the sound, to the sight of Wooyoung spreading his legs wide open for him. 

Instead, he just cocks his head. Blinks once, twice, and the way that he's staring at Wooyoung who's got his thighs falling to his sides, come-stained fingers dragging up and down softly, teasing, has Wooyoung moaning pitifully. The murmur that follows is even worse, and Wooyoung hates that just the mere combination of San's words and the look on his face has him practically dripping. "Nah, I don't think I will."

_Oh God._

_"Please,"_ Wooyoung says, and he hates that he already sounds like he's near tears. He tries to ignore the way his hand drops, teasing touch trailing down to where San was staring, eyes stuck on where his hole was clenching down on nothing, body twitching with a desperate need to get filled. "C’mon, San, I—I need it. Please."

San must be some type of sadist, because the blank look on his face doesn't waver in the slightest before he's murmuring, voice low. "Don't think you've earned it yet, sweetheart." 

_Fuck,_ he can't help but think, _what the fuck,_ because San's words aren't hard to understand, simple enough that there is no room for any misunderstandings. 

The surprising familiarity of this almost feels like they've done this before, exchanged touches like this while San murmured the filthiest things into his ear, finger pressing down on his tongue, and he doesn't have the mental capacity to wonder why he knows exactly what San wants to hear. 

He was tense earlier but he can feel his body sinking into the bed at the mere thought of what he was going to say, the plea sitting on the tip of his tongue, skin tightening with every inch of his skin ready for San to mark up, and the words come out too easy, hazey and slurred, "Anything—I'll do anything, I swear, just—"

"Anything?" 

The question seems innocent enough that Wooyoung doesn't question it, which is why the word slips out with ease, quick and hurried, "Anything."

That's his first mistake.

The second, is expecting San to give it to him that easy just with a few words, because San just walks towards him without a word, tossing the lube and condoms to the side as he climbs onto the bed. Wooyoung has to resist the urge to reach and tug San towards him because he just makes himself comfortable, settling right between Wooyoung's legs.

There isn't a single inch of skin that brushes against his own when San leans in to hover, arms on either side of Wooyoung's head. He drops his head, and Wooyoung can't help the way his eyes glance at San's lips, wet and red and inviting, and his eyes flutter shut because San's _finally_ going to touch him.

His skin feels like it's on fire and his toes curl when San's mouth brushes against his, breath warm, and then his lips drag against his cheek before it lands near his ear.

And then comes San's voice, wicked and commanding, "Touch yourself." 

His eyes snap open in surprise, and his mouth drops in a silent moan, shuddered breath escaping him because San's eyes have visibly darkened in the dimmed room, sin practically dripping from the smug grin playing on his lips, and it has Wooyoung struggling to keep his legs apart. 

"What?" 

San just shrugs. "You said you'd do anything, didn't you?"

_Fuck._

"Show me."

The answer seems simple enough at that point, because San was _right._

That is why it doesn’t take longer than a few seconds for Wooyoung to turn around, shifting all of his weight onto his knees while he drops down to rest his head on the bed.

And then he settles into position, wiggling his hips to get more comfortable and his back arches deep enough that there's a filthy groan that comes from San sitting behind him, the sight of his best friend easily bending over for him like this driving him up crazy. "Fucking hell, Wooyoung."

He knows he looks good. 

He's been told enough times during the fucks he's had over the last year that he looks pretty like this, fingers fisting the sheets while he moaned the filthiest lines, thick thighs leading to his ass up in the air for anyone who was fucking him. 

But to have it drawn out like this for once, to know that his best friend felt the same way, ready to lose it just by the sight of him like this, ready to do whatever San asked of him, face down while he cried for more, had heat licking at the base of the spine and arousal swirling in his gut. 

He simply reaches a hand over to grab the lube, uncapping it with ease and getting his fingers wet. He's suddenly grateful his wardrobe is right in front of his bed, because now he can see the way San's staring at the way his fingers go back to rub at his hole, getting the slick all around. The look on San's face when he slides the first finger in is everything to him, pushing in slowly, inch by inch.

It doesn’t take long before he’s fucking himself properly, eyes stuck on the way San wouldn’t stop staring at where his finger was sliding in and out, and there’s a whine that escapes him when he sees San’s tongue dart out to wet his lips. He’s so turned on that it hurts, aches as deep as he feels empty, and San _still_ hasn’t touched him.

“One more,” San breathes, voice hoarse with the strain. “Gimme one more, baby.”

Oh, hell.

Then he’s spreading his legs even further, lifting his hips just right for him to carefully press another finger in, and a whimper slips out when he feels himself stretch around the jut of his knuckles. It’s a relatively easy slide, maybe because he had done this that very morning in the shower when Yeosang had been asleep, but it seems that even if San had noticed, he didn’t care enough to comment. 

Instead, he watches, and Wooyoung watches him through the mirror. 

There’s that familiar twinge at the base of his spine, sweat licking at his skin when he feels himself open up greedily, happy with being filled. He can’t help the low moan that rattles his chest when he sees the way San’s face crumples at the sight of him clenching down on his fingers that were sliding in and out of him, wet and a lot messier than it needed to be.

The pathetic whimper that comes out of his mouth pales in comparison to the slick sounds that are coming from behind him and he looks at San once more and the moan that leaves his mouth is just downright obscene, because San’s already slid off his briefs and is slowly stroking his cock, condoms and the bottle of lube sitting by his legs. 

His eyes instinctively shut in embarrassment, because San just _won’t stop staring._ He knows he’s pretty when he gets off, even better when he gets fucked into the bed, but the shame that comes from his best friend watching like this is almost too much, narrow eyes stuck on the way he opens himself up, fingers scissoring to get the angle just right for him to start crying. 

It’s mortifying, being made to do this. Even worse that San was jacking off to him getting off by himself, and he can’t help but flush in embarrassment because he can hear San’s breath hitch, wet sounds accompanying the noises he’s pulling out of himself, struggling to keep down the whines and whimpers bubbling up as he goes faster, San matching his pace easy.

It’s humiliating enough to get off by himself that his fingers slow, wrist coming to a slow stop because his wrist aches with not being flexible enough to hit just the right spot.

“I didn't tell you to stop.”

But then his eyes snap open, a startled moan slipping out when he feels something cold, something wet land on his ass, sliding and dripping down his thighs to end on the sheets. It only takes one turn of his head to see San in the mirror, holding the bottle and tilting it just enough to get the liquid all over, stopping once there’s enough that makes the pink of his hole glisten under the overhead light that Wooyoung had left on.

It's the filthiest thing he's ever seen, San jacking off to Wooyoung like this, pumping with steady strokes while his large palm rests on the swell of Wooyoung's ass, keeping him still so he could keep looking. San's blunt nails dig into his skin hard enough that he knows there will be red half-moons left behind before the end of the night, and he has to muffle himself at the belated realisation that he likes that San's leaving marks on him.

“Fuck, look at you, sweetheart," and then his hand drags up, nails scratching at skin before settling on the back of Wooyoung's neck and pushes, pressing him down flat onto the mattress before he's reaching over to nudge Wooyoung's legs apart even further with his knee. 

Oh my God.

"I’m going to fucking ruin you."

Wooyoung is not proud of his reaction at San's words and the heat behind them, but he's even more ashamed at the garbled moan that punches it's way out of his throat when he feels a slick fingertip prod against his hole, nail pressing against where his own fingers were sliding inside. He can't help the loud groan that slips out then, San's thumb pressing hard enough his legs go a little slack, hand fisting the sheets because he's losing his mind.

And San is still keeping him pressed down, and there's a choked off moan that tumbles out because he's left still. Left hanging, ass up and crying into the bed with unintelligible pleads for San to fuck him, wide open for the taking. 

Stuck.

The thought is enough to have him clenching down again, skin tightening and toes curling because it's too much. He's genuinely seconds from losing it, falling headfirst into it at the combination of San's teasing and finally getting touched like he had wanted, and San knows that, because his thumb presses once and it slides in all the way. 

"San, fuck—oh God—"

And then San _crooks,_ thumb sliding against his own fingers, and Wooyoung has to shove his fist into his mouth to stop the yell that bubbles up. 

Vaguely, Wooyoung realizes how desperately he needs to come.

Maybe it's the fact that it's San that has him squirming within seconds of getting touched, but the combination of the way San’s looking at him, eyes trained on him, and not being able to move has him close, orgasm just barely out of reach. He’s been teased for long enough, and he can’t help the loud cry that bursts out of him, back arching involuntarily when San twists his finger, dragging inside him and _fuck,_ he’s really going to come like this, untouched.

"Fuck," he groans, and he can't help but push back even further, thighs quivering and his body shaking with the effort of keeping himself open and still for San. "'m gonna come— _ahh, mmhn,_ San—"

The burning sensation in his stomach flares up immediately at that, and his quiet whimpers have gone from _ah-ah-ah_ to loud pleas, San’s name muffled into the sheets while _wanna come, please,_ comes out all slurred and messy. And there’s San’s groan coming from behind him when he clenches down again, and the sound along with the slick noises of San touching himself have him biting down on his hand, teeth sinking in hard enough he can almost taste iron. 

“Please,” a ragged moan leaves his lips, muffled by his hand, and he’s almost there, churning in his gut not letting up for even a second. 

He’s so fucking close, and maybe San could tell, because he crooks his finger every time Wooyoung tightens up, a lone tear sliding down his cheek. He inhales sharply, breath hitching when San pushes again, thumb sliding against his own digits, and his thighs twitch under the attention, ready to climb the high that’s going to hit him in mere seconds and—and then San pulls away, slipping his thumb out while tugging Wooyoung’s arm back by the wrist.

Wooyoung barely manages to bite back the scream sitting on the tip of his tongue, teeth painfully digging into his knuckles and San laughs at the frustrated groan that rattles his chest. “What the _fuck,_ let me come, you asshole—”

A filthy moan slips out this time, obscene and harsh, because San’s rough hand comes down on his ass, smacking loud enough that it almost echoes in his bedroom, and shame and embarrassment curl in his gut because San’s fingers dig in again.

“You wanna come that bad?” San says, amused, and Wooyoung’s eyes roll back when his hand reaches back down, thumb going to rub at his hole again, pressing just enough that the tip slid in. “Do you think you’ve earned it yet?”

"Yes,” Wooyoung snaps, “and I swear to God if you’re not fucking me within the next three seconds I’ll go find someone else—”

San tuts at that, frowning, pulling back only to slide two fingers in this time, and Wooyoung groans when he presses his free hand back onto Wooyoung’s neck and shoves him back down into the bed, forcing his hips up. “That's not very polite.”

Wooyoung can barely keep his eyes on San through the mirror, because the man’s already curling and twisting his fingers just enough that Wooyoung can already feel it coming. 

And then San’s voice follows, quiet as a whisper, “Beg.”

“San,” he whimpers. “Let me come. Please. _Please._ ”

“You can do better than that,” San murmurs, slipping his fingers out, and Wooyoung shivers at the combination of San’s shift in demeanor, gentle and tender with the way his palm lovingly stroked his skin, thumbing at the bruise that was already beginning to bloom, an angry red on the golden skin. “C’mon, baby. All you gotta do is ask nicely, hm?”

He can't hold the desperate whine at that, panting into the sheets, slack jawed while he stares at San's reflection that is moving away from him, sitting back while he grips Wooyoung's hips, hands sliding to grab his ass and spread him open. And then San's murmuring, a wicked grin on his face, "Be a good boy for hyung." 

Oh.

 _Oh my God,_ he wails internally, and he’s infinitely more horrified at the belated realisation that he likes it. 

It's absolutely fucking disgusting, the way San’s looking at him like that, and _fuck, this is so filthy,_ he thinks, calling San—his best friend, someone who is the same age as him—his hyung, but he’s mortified when he realises he’s dripping and making a mess of his sheets, hard while every inch of his skin lights up. He swallows thickly, and he’s ashamed to say that the words are already sitting on the tip of his tongue.

“ _Hyung_ ,” he breathes out, “please.”

“What do you want, baby?” San says quietly, hand letting up to stroke at the back of his neck, gentle and kind. His voice is low and raspy, and Wooyoung emits a shaky exhale, tears burning hot behind his eyes because his brain feels numb, ears buzzing, pleasure coiling a little like white heat that pools in his stomach, reaching his fingertips. And then San continues, “What do you want hyung to do?”

“I… I wanna,” Wooyoung starts, but the words sit heavy on his tongue, unable to continue. He knows what he wants, what he needs, which is to come with San all over him. Come because San’s touching him like this. 

His head is all fuzzy, and he presses his face back into the mattress, eyes screwed shut because it was too much, getting pushed like this. Being pinned down and taking it however San wants him to, but it’s the fact that San waits, patient and composed, comforting in the way his hand scratches at his neck, that makes the words come out at all. 

It’s a whimper, almost unintelligible because Wooyoung’s far too gone to put any strength into his words anymore, but San understands nonetheless. “ _Hyung_ ,” it spills from his lips, barely audible, slurred, “Wanna come, please, hyung, please, please, _please._ ”

And then San’s pulling him back by the hips and burying his face into Wooyoung’s ass.

“Fuck,” he moans loudly, and the low sounds that rumble in his chest along with the wet sounds coming from behind him are going to have him coming in actual seconds, because San’s not only good, but he _likes_ it. Likes giving it to Wooyoung like this, wet and messy and noisy and driving him up the wall with the way he slowly dragged his tongue up and down, suckling softly before kissing his entrance wetly.

The mix of lewd, wet squelching sounds that come from getting rimmed and the sounds of San groaning into his skin while he watches San going at it in the mirror are going to drive him absolutely fucking mental. Then San is sliding his tongue in with practically no resistance, and that’s what almost sets him off, hips immediately bucking back, moving until he was practically fucking back onto San’s tongue. 

“Fuck, hyung, please,” Wooyoung babbles, and the line of drool that makes it's way down his chin hardly registers, eyes barely managing to stay open, vision blurry and head fuzzy with the way San kept going. “Please, hyung, _ahh_ —mmhn, fuck— _please—_ ”

San doesn’t bother responding, only answering with a loud smack, keeping him pressed against his face with a bruising grip that Wooyoung just knows will leave marks for days.

Wooyoung can’t help but jerk, a surprised moan leaving his lips as his hips jolt when San pulls back just the slightest to crudely spit on his puckered hole, loose and so wet and messy. 

And then San’s tongue is sliding in once before dragging down, back up, and the combination of the visual of San’s reflection in the mirror, head buried in his ass to the feeling of San’s tongue dipping back inside the rim, gripping Wooyoung’s waist and moving his hips against his face, is enough to have his skin on fire, hands flying out to grip San’s hair, pulling it so hard the man can’t help the low groan that leaves his mouth. 

“Please,” he’s almost sobbing at that point, oversensitive and whining from being edged for so long, hips shifting restlessly under San as he flicks his tongue with long, broad strokes. His entire body freezes, limbs locking as his hips shake horribly, and he can feel it rising inside, eyes rolling into the back of his head because it feels so fucking good, teetering just on the edge of being too much, too painful. “Wanna come—please, can I come—”

“Come,” he softly murmurs into Wooyoung’s skin, licking him out with abandon, thumb pressing on the pink rim while he stretches his tongue out. He reaches forward, dragging his palm over the head of Wooyoung’s cock once before pressing his finger down hard on the slit that it only takes seconds before the smaller man’s vision blackens.

“ _Ahh_ , fuck—m’coming, _hyung—_ ”

He keens, all high pitched and shaky as he comes, body throbbing painfully while he rides out his orgasm, cock weakly spurting out the last bit of his come onto the sheets. He can barely keep his eyes on the way San looks at him, the way his eyes stay glued to the sight of Wooyoung crying, all wet and twitching from his spit, clenching down on empty air in a way that was just ungodly, spread wide open.

He’s breathing hard, head falling slack when San’s grip loosens, hands pulling away from his waist to give him a few moments to catch his breath because fuck, if he wasn’t out of it before, now he’s just gone.

"Colour?" San asks, lips pressing against the bruise forming on his ass.

The answer is clear. 

" _Green_ ," he slurs.

Then San is leaning over, placing kisses up his spine, lips dragging up his skin before they curve into a smile into his neck. “One more, baby,” San murmurs, and he sounds so gentle it makes Wooyoung want to cry. “Just one more for hyung, hmm?”

Before he can come up with a response that was more coherent than _fuck me already,_ San has already buried himself inside Wooyoung.

There’s a fleeting thought in his mind, that he has no idea when San put on the condom and slicked himself up, but he has no time to spend any time thinking about it because he’s too deliriously content to focus on anything but the fact that San was finally fucking him, the stretch leading into that sting.

His limbs feel like they’re melting into the bed and his brain is all hazy enough that the feeling of San’s sharp hip bones meeting the back of his ass barely registers, too focused on how full he feels. There’s a faint buzzing in his ears, the dull thud of his heartbeat ringing too loudly for him to hear the smack of San’s hips against him, and his body trembles with relief.

“Fuck, baby,” San’s groan is harsh when he bottoms out, sliding back in even rougher than he was being the entire night. 

The only reason Wooyoung can tell that San is equally affected as him isn’t in the way his breathing has gone heavy, but in the way his thighs noticeably shake against Wooyoung’s, quivering with the strain of not fucking Wooyoung into the mattress until he had fully adjusted, overwhelmed with how the smaller man felt, how warm and tight he was. “I’ve been thinking about this.”

A choked out moan bursts out of him when San’s hand reaches down and curls around his neglected cock that was almost purpling with oversensitivity. 

His nails press into his palms so hard he knows he'll leave blood red half-moons behind because San is stroking while pushing in slow enough he's forced to feel the way San's cock dragged against his walls, pressing so deep he thinks he can feel it in his stomach. “Been thinking about what it would be like to bend you over like this. How pretty you’d look when you cry on my dick.”

“Fuck, oh God,” he whimpers, writhing as he pushes his ass back to fuck himself on San’s cock, body thrumming because he’s so fucking sensitive he can feel it start in his toes and end with a knot in his gut that’s telling him he’s going to absolutely burst at any second. “Please, right there, hyung—oh _fuckfuckfuck_ —”

San’s hips come to a slow roll, grinding hard before he pulls back, the head of his cock catching onto Wooyoung’s rim obscenely. 

“Would you like that, sweetheart?” San asks, voice winded, hoarse when Wooyoung clenches down so hard his toes curl. “Do you want hyung to make you feel good?”

San’s hand is pressing down onto the back of his neck hard, making him let out a ragged whine and then the man is leaning over, his chest almost flattening Wooyoung into the bed with his weight resting on the smaller man’s back.

“I don't know,” he whines, and he hates that it's true. He’s got tears rising from the corners of his eyes and he hasn’t the slightest clue how to say it, how to tell San what he wants because he’s far too out of it to even think. “I don’t know, I don’t—just—please, hyung, please, please touch me—”

That is more than enough for San to grind once, twice, before a loud, rough groan slips past his teeth when he sinks back in, steady and unhurried into the tight, slick heat that Wooyoung was providing him. He’s not slow but he’s not fast either, and Wooyoung can’t contain the guttural moan that leaves him when San’s cock drags against his walls in a burn so delicious he could cry in relief.

And then San’s sliding his fingers into his hair, fisting those long locks once again but this time, he doesn’t keep Wooyoung still. Instead, San pulls, bringing him all the way up with a painful yank, finding a steady rhythm as he holds Wooyoung up on his knees, fingers scrambling to find balance on his sheets.

It's not a secret that as loud as Wooyoung was, he liked to feel small. He liked it when everyone coddled him, paid attention and cuddled him. It's not exactly a secret, but he supposes it should count as one when it's never applied to the bedroom, because feeling San manhandle him up into that position had him absolutely dripping, cock still hanging heavy between his legs despite coming twice already.

Maybe it's because somewhere along the line, he’s forgotten that even though he was just a few centimeters taller, San has gotten much larger than him.

He used to be a skinny little thing, and it seems Wooyoung has forgotten just how much bigger San was compared to their debut two years ago.

He’s wide in all the ways Wooyoung’s lean, strong and dependable in all the ways Wooyoung is a brat. And maybe it's because now he can properly see it for himself, the way San’s broad shoulders dipped into that tiny waist, the way San looked behind him, thick arms tensing with the effort of keeping Wooyoung up like that with minimal effort.

He doesn't know how the pained groan makes its way out of his throat when San angles his hips just right, sound verging on a wail that's just downright obscene. And then San shifts again, precise in a way that has him whimpering, fighting down sobs, squirming as his hips wiggled to find a release.

“Please, I can’t—I need to— _hyung,_ " he begged, the words coming out in a cracked whine as San’s lips mouthed over his shoulder, biting down hard enough that Wooyoung knows there will be a mark before the night ends and the possessiveness behind the action has him biting back another sob.

He can barely hear himself or the sound of San’s hips roughly smacking into his ass over the sound of the bed’s headboard crashing into the wall or the creaking of their bed because he’s far too gone, can’t think, can’t even breathe properly. He doesn’t really know what to focus on, because San’s not even fucking him anymore, fucking into him like he was some toy and he’s going crazy because he likes it..

And then San is saying, voice lilting in amusement. “Wait till the fans find out their precious little Wooyoungie cries when he gets fucked.”

Holy shit. 

He can’t seem to keep his mouth shut at that. “Can’t—San, wait, fuck, please, harder, _harder—_ ”

And then the hand sitting on his hip drags up, fingers sliding all the way to cradle his cheek lovingly before they slip down and curl around his throat, nails digging painfully under his jaw.

_Holy shit._

He can’t even keep his eyes on the mirror anymore, too out of it to even watch. He can faintly hear San laughing behind him at the feeling of Wooyoung’s throat constricting under his grip, the way he clenches down almost immediately, white-hot flames in his gut reaching to his fingertips, light-headed at the feeling of San’s hand squeezing.

The rest of the words come out in a wheeze, frantic in a whine, “San, I can’t— _ahh, ahh, mmhn_ —I need to come, please, hyung— ”

He can vaguely feel how wet his cheeks have become, and the line of drool that's made its way down his chin, and San's pace falters for a second at the sight of Wooyoung, debauched and a complete mess under his hand. San's hips jerk when he shifts to press in with deep, steady thrusts aimed right at his prostate. 

Wooyoung can’t even keep his eyes open properly, because San's fucked him silly at this point, every push punching a small and weak moan out of his lungs while the hand on his throat squeezes even harder.

"I'd always assumed you'd be a bit of a brat," San murmurs, and the smile on his face has him fighting down a wail. "But who would have thought, cock really does make you stupid, huh, Young-ah?" 

He manages one shaky inhale when San's grip on his throat loosens, but it's only a single minute of relief before his palm fits over Wooyoung's neck again. His hand curls around his throat, and Wooyoung can't help the garbled moan that comes out when he realises he'll have thick finger shaped bruises, blooming in reds and indigos, by the end of the night. 

"Let me come, _please,_ " Wooyoung chokes out.

"Not yet."

Fuck.

He’s choking on the little breath he has left while San fucks into him, hips jerking and pace faltering just enough for him to realise dimly that San was going to come. His vocabulary only consists of choked-off groans and hisses of unintelligible words, voice cracking in the middle of _pleasepleaseplease_ , trailing off into a broken whine while San's hand grips onto his neck, his hips snapping up in sharp, quick jabs. 

His back is pinned to San's chest, and then it's like San is everywhere—all over him and inside him, rough hands turning him inside out, yanking at his hair while the other squeezed his neck, his stomach twisting into knots, vision going blurry and he knows his orgasm is right there, just a little bit out of reach. He can’t even make proper sounds anymore, air punched out of his throat the harder San goes, pushing into the hilt, frantic and rough and hard.

His muscles are tightening as his limbs lock up again, toes curling at the impending orgasm, barely managing to keep himself from thrashing at how fucking hard he was getting railed, body taut as a live-wire, ready to snap.

“Come,” San murmurs.

It’s his voice that tips Wooyoung over the edge. He barely even feels it when San's head drops down, sinking his teeth in his shoulder, and he can barely feel anything other than the way it crashes into him, body quivering. He doesn't even notice that he can't even come properly, cock barely dribbling come and San continues fucking into him. 

And then San's hips slam against him once, twice, before he stills with a gritted _fuck,_ voice low and grating under his breath, cock twitching before coming as well, and Wooyoung is reeling at the belated realisation that San would be filling him up if he hadn't had the sense to wear a condom.

The thought has him clenching down immediately, San letting out a choked groan at the feeling, because he _wants_ it. He wants San, over him and under him in any way that he can have him, if it meant San filled him up.

And then suddenly it's all too much, the feeling of San inside him, over him, teeth burying into his skin while his lips dragged against the wide expanse of his neck and shoulder in apologetic kisses and a flick of the tongue. 

(Because Wooyoung _wants_ him.)

San's hand slides down his neck, down to his hip and he lets out a high whine because _no, no, it hurts, no more, please,_ but before he could say the safeword, San lets go of his hair, having enough sense to hold him up by the shoulder. 

“Hey,” San shushes, and Wooyoung nearly sobs in relief. “I've got you. I've got you, hm?"

Thank God.

There's a steady buzz, pleasant and insistent, in his ears when San pulls out, gently laying him down and turning him onto his back. Slotting himself between Wooyoung's legs, hands on either side of his head, he leans in and Wooyoung uses the rest of the energy he had left to reach his hands up and hold his cheeks, pulling him down into a soft kiss, sighing into it as his chest hums contentedly. 

His hands drag up and they slide into San's hair, and they don't break apart from their position even though San drops his head to place gentle kisses down his neck, his shoulder. It's soft, tender, until San shifts slightly, pulling away, a whine spilling from Wooyoung's lips as he tightens his grip.

“What's wrong?” San asks, a concerned frown taking over his face.

" _Don't go,_ " he slurs, and he doesn't have any energy left to think about why he said that, or feel ashamed, because he is way too high up to think about anything but San.

San's expression instantly smoothens, and the gentlest smile is playing on his lips. His hands are delicate, soothing against the harsh grip he had earlier on Wooyoung's hips, thighs. "I gotta clean you up, baby."

Without thinking, his head is already shaking in protest. 

“I—I want," his voice trails off at the end and he can't even look at San when he says the rest of the sentence, too embarrassed to meet his gaze. “Wanna stay like this. Just for a little bit, please. Hyung.”

He can feel San go still, silence stretching on for what seemed like ages, but then San sighs, dropping his head to give Wooyoung another kiss before stroking his cheek. "Okay," he murmurs, sounding awfully fond, "Okay, hold on."

Wooyoung can only manage a nod, San's easy acceptance loosening all the potential knots of tension that he was building himself upto, suddenly feeling drowsy. San shifts back, but this time he doesn't complain because San turns him onto his side, and there's a content sigh that slips out when he relaxes into the bed. 

San settles in behind him, throwing an arm over his waist and tugs him close enough that his back was flush against San's chest. And then he's leaning in, both of their legs tangled in a mess, his lips pressing a kiss on the bite mark that he'd left behind.

Wooyoung can't help but shiver at that, eyes slipping shut, because San's mouth almost acts as a salve for the wound that he knows will hurt like a _bitch_ in the morning.

"Sleepy?" San asks, his rough voice muffled into his skin, sending goosebumps down his arms. His breath was warm against the nape of his neck, and San's arm tightens around him when he squirms in return. 

"'m tired," is the only thing his mouth can manage in that moment, eyes refusing to open even though all he wanted was to see the way San's eyes crinkle when he laughs in response. 

"Time for bed, huh," San murmurs. 

He’s not the biggest fan of messes, but he’s tired and fucked out enough that he couldn’t bring himself to care about his ruined sheets. He’s drifting in and out already, and he can barely hear the sweet words, praises in the form of hushed whispers against his skin that were slipping out of San’s mouth, but the feeling of his lips against his skin is more than enough to settle him. He can faintly hear San’s promise to clean up once he’s asleep, and Wooyoung is more than fine with that.

As long as San was here with him like this.

“Thank you,” he whispers sleepily, words coming out in a slur, and San noses at his neck as if he was saying _you’re welcome_ _(anything for you)_. Just as he’s about to fall asleep, he feels San’s fingers drag up his waist, and his hand is splayed out on his stomach, drawing patterns and it makes his heart swell, and then San presses another kiss onto his shoulder.

The last thing he remembers before he passes out is the soft murmur of San’s smooth voice in his ear, gentle and soothing, “Goodnight, baby.”  
  
  


When Wooyoung wakes up, it is to fresh sheets, clean skin, and covers tucked under his chin. 

It takes a second to realise that he’s in San’s bedroom.

It takes a few more to realise that he’s in San’s bed.

He’s alone, legs wrapped around a pillow and his arm curled under his head, but he doesn’t feel scared. He’s not too worried about waking up alone like this even after what happened last night (though the memories hit him like a brick when he wakes and sends his cheeks into a permanent blush). San would never leave him, he knows.

Regardless of whether anything would change, San was San, and he was never one to leave things unfinished. Sure, there was always that seed of doubt growing in his gut, but he knew San loved him. As a best friend, maybe, and hopefully more, but the bottom line is, San wouldn’t leave Wooyoung to stew in his worries.

He’d make them talk it out.

Even if the talking didn’t go all too well last night.

(Even if talking isn’t something Wooyoung is good at. Even if talking scares Wooyoung shitless.)

And that is what he _is_ worried about.

Not San leaving him alone like this, but the inevitable conversation that would follow once he sees that Wooyoung is awake. He doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want to acknowledge the fact that something had happened and that things were going to inevitably change. He’s not ready to talk—not ready to face the fact that there was a chance that by the end of the day, he'd have lost his best friend.

Or at the least, the fact that everything could change—and therefore, _would_ change. 

Besides, he can hear water rushing in the bathroom, and then it turns off. He hears footsteps, and he watches as the door opens slowly. San has a towel slung over his shoulders, shirtless and in a pair of grey sweats, and Wooyoung has to take a minute to look at how attractive San really is, fingers carding through his hair to slick it back, eyes bright even though he knows it would be sleep-warm just minutes ago.

He looks good. 

Wooyoung has to resist the urge to jump him then and there.

Then San’s eyes flit to his, and they widen once he sees that Wooyoung is awake, curled up in his bed. And Wooyoung can’t help but bite his bottom lip at the slow smile that takes over San’s bare face, his fair skin melting into those high cheekbones, drooping into the gentle curve of his cheeks, the jut of his jawline. It seems he’s also forgotten just how good San looks even first thing in the morning.

“Hey,” San says, hesitant, but he looks comfortable. Just the slightest bit cautious, and Wooyoung can understand that. It's not every day that one fucks their best friend without alcohol for an excuse. 

“Hi,” he calls out, a little bit unsure, but he blushes even harder when his voice comes out hoarse and raw.

San’s lips curve up, smile wide, and Wooyoung has to ignore the thud in his chest when he sees those dimples popping out. Instead, he stares at the way San walks towards him, unhurried and leisured but sure, wiping his hands on his towel before he sits down on the side of the bed, running his fingers through Wooyoung’s hair. “You slept pretty hard last night.”

Wooyoung turns bright red at that, because it's true. He only remembers falling asleep and then waking up.

“How’re you feeling? Throat okay?” San asks, fingers slipping down, thumb stroking at his cheek. He sounds so gentle it makes Wooyoung want to cry.

“Good,” he says, and ignores the heat on his cheeks when he has to clear his throat to get the words out properly. “Sore, though. Feel like I got suckerpunched into the heliosphere or something.”

San snorts, eyes rolling in amusement before his hand stills, cupping Wooyoung’s cheek. “You’re a mouthy little shit, Youngie.”

“Wouldn’t be me if I weren’t that way,” is his only reply, and San looks so fond of him that has to turn his head, looking away, because he can’t handle those eyes looking at him any longer.

“You might be right.”

They’re quiet for a while after that, just basking in each other’s presence while Wooyoung’s eyes slip shut again, close to drifting back to sleep as San cards his fingers through Wooyoung’s hair, scratching lightly. He knows there’s a stupid smile on his face that he can’t quite suppress, because it's just way too early in the morning for him to try, but it's good.

Gentle, even. Nice.

“Hey,” San calls, and the nervous tone behind the words makes Wooyoung open one eye, peeking at the man sitting right by him, humming questioningly in response.

There is an unreadable expression on San’s face that lasts a split second before a hesitant smile tugs at the corner of his lip. And then he opens his mouth to speak, though it takes a few moments to get the words out. “I think we should talk about last night.”

He’s right.

God, he’s so right, but the words make his blood run cold, the bubble he’d been living in for the last few minutes bursting.

"Do we have to?" 

"We do," San nods, and the smile turns teasing. Wooyoung hates that he loves it, hates that he wants to keep watching the way those pink lips looked stretched wide in a grin, white peeking out from behind. "It would be good if we actually talked about everything but I think you're too tired for that right now, huh?"

And that's enough for him to shove his head back into the mattress and let out a muffled groan. 

San doesn't bother replying, and the silence that stretches on is daunting. Wooyoung knows he's waiting for a response, and he had always been stubbornly patient, a quality that Wooyoung could never hope to have. 

It's quiet for a few more seconds before Wooyoung lifts his head, sending San a disgruntled look. "Fine."

"Should I start?" San asks, and though the smile has left his face by now, looking intently at Wooyoung instead, his voice remains soft. Gentle, like he was worried Wooyoung was going to make a run for it.

And truthfully, he was, just a few minutes ago.

He had wanted to leave even before San had walked in.

But he owes it to San to hear him out, because he's the reason why the two of them have had a strained relationship the last couple of days by avoiding him like he was the plague off-screen. 

So he nods.

"Okay."

San's fingers scratch again before his hand stills, and then he pulls away. "Mind if I get in there with you?"

It's a stupid question. Of course it is, because it's San's bed in the first place and he shouldn't even have to ask. 

But even then, he does, and the butterflies in Wooyoung's stomach decides to wake up at that moment and flutter at full speed. It was unbelievably sweet and it reminded him of how much San took care of him, be it as a friend or even more. 

"Sure," he mumbles.

Muttering a quick _thank you_ under his breath, San climbs over him, and sits up against the headboard. That, he expects, but he doesn't expect San to tug him as well, turning him around and pulling him in until Wooyoung's face was pressed against San's stomach, the older man's hand resting on his head, running his fingers through his hair again.

"This okay?"

Fuck. 

Wooyoung just hums in response, shutting his eyes and nuzzles his face back into San's midsection to hide the fact that he looked like the emoji with hearts for eyes. 

San didn't need to see that.

"So last night was pretty intense," San starts, carding his fingers through the knots in his hair, untangling them gently. "I just wanted to make sure you're alright, considering we didn't plan or talk about what we did last night before it happened."

And that is why Choi San is the angel tasked to take care of him by his parents.

"It was good," Wooyoung murmurs, not willing to look at San because he's always been easy to read, and his face is currently on fire. "I liked it. A lot."

"That's good," San replies, and his voice is soothing. Honest, and Wooyoung can't even hear the hint of a lie in it. The words that follow have his heart thudding violently in his chest. "So did I."

Oh.

“You don't regret it?” His voice was small and muffled against San's skin.

"Do I regret making you feel good? No," San says, and his hand glides down the nape of his neck, reaching further down until he's running it up and down his naked back. "Do I regret that it happened? Not at all. But do I regret that it happened like that, because we didn't talk about it beforehand? A little bit, yeah. Especially because we fought right before, too."

That is enough to relieve the sick feeling in his stomach, and that feeling of wanting to puke is mostly gone. 

He's not a complete idiot, unlike what the rest of them thought. He knows this is just San being worried that he took things too far with what they had done, but not that they had done anything at all. Otherwise, San would have said that, because he never lied. 

This was just San's way of sharing his concerns, and Wooyoung understands. Not only had they just fallen into bed together, but they had been having a really bad fight just seconds before. He pulls away a bit to sneak a glance at San, and the older man didn’t look angry or upset, but worry was clearly written on his face. “Yeah, I get it.”

He's mature enough to try, at least, to understand. It scares him to no end, and definitely makes him want to run, but it's difficult when San is looking down at him with such openness in his eyes, vulnerable and honest. Worried. 

For him.

And if that doesn't tug at his heartstrings, he doesn't know what does. 

“That's good to hear, because I don't want you to think I'm saying this because I regret it. I don't," San's hand squeezes his waist. "And how could I, when you were being such a good boy for me last night?"

Oh, hell.

Wooyoung's body gives an involuntary shudder at San's words.

“But that aside,” San says, a little smile tugging at the edges of his mouth as soon as he felt Wooyoung shiver against him, “I think it's time you told me why you've been avoiding me, if you're up for it. Doesn't have to be today, though, if you're too tired.”

He didn't want it to be today, but they were already having this conversation. 

The older man was being honest with him, and he could admit to himself and Yeosang that he had been flat out ignoring San lately, so he could at least try and talk to San, and be just as honest as San had been with him. “I just… I think I panicked. About how I am with you, and with the whole fanservice thing, I just…"

There was a little crease between San's eyebrows, the one that always appeared when the man was baffled. “Just what?"

He shrugged, unconcerned. “I think I was just really confused.”

“...Confused? About us?”

"That if it was just fanservice, or if I actually liked you," Wooyoung says, voice coming out weak.

San's hand stills on his back. "And do you know now?"

"Yes."

"What is it?"

Wooyoung's eyes slip shut again in embarrassment and shame. Anxiety swirls in his gut the longer San stays frozen against him. He can remember the words San threw at him at the end of the fight, _you don't want to pretend anymore and that scares you_ ringing loudly, but there was always a chance that San was joking. Or assuming. He wouldn't have known for real unless Wooyoung had said it. 

And maybe that's why he does. "I like you."

And San… doesn't reply. 

That's enough of an answer, and his heart sinks in his chest. 

Wooyoung doesn't wait for San to reject him, and just continues talking. "I like you, and I think I have for a really long time. But it's okay, you don't have to worry about rejecting me, San. I know you don't like me like that, and that's fine. We're always going to be best friends and I'm okay with that."

He sucks in a deep breath and he’s trembling from head to toe from a weird mixture of terror and adrenaline and San is still just sitting there.

Silent.

He still can't bring himself to look up.

“Please say something,” he whispers.

“You like me?” San asks, in a very small voice.

“Yes,” Wooyoung says, and his arm curls around San's waist. He's not ready to let go of San just yet, and he's going to wait until San tells him to back off. “I do. I really do.”

It's too quiet, and Wooyoung finally looks up.

San looks dazed, staring down at Wooyoung in what seems to be awe. He shakes his head, confused. “I like you too."

What?

“What?” Wooyoung whispers.

San laughs, then, but it’s an almost broken sound. “Fuck, Wooyoung, I've liked you for years. It's not exactly a secret, even the guys know. I thought you found out and you were just… sparing my feelings or something." 

“What?” Wooyoung says again, a little louder.

San's eyes are a little wet and his fingers are splayed out on the base of Wooyoung's spine. “Fuck. I was so obvious, it was embarrassing. Everyone could see that—that I had a crush on you. But you didn't—or at least, I thought you did and you were ignoring it, and I didn’t want to mess up our friendship. So I just didn't say anything, I guess.”

Wooyoung makes a low, wounded sound in the back of his throat. “I thought you wouldn’t want me. Not like that. Or think I was a freak for liking _you_ and liking these _things_ in bed and—”

"No, what the fuck," San says, and now he looks angry. "I would never think that about you, Wooyoung. It doesn't matter if you liked _me_ or not, I would never judge you for something like that. And even if I hadn't felt the same way about you, we're always gonna be best friends at the end of the day." 

"I think I was just scared that everything would change," Wooyoung admits.

San replies, brutally honest like always, thumb stroking at the skin right below the small of his back. "It might have, but I don't think it matters when it's us. Don't you?"

And Wooyoung can only nod slowly at that, because San is right.

They weren't the type to let anything get in the way of their relationship before, and it wouldn't change this time around either.

Or maybe something will, and Wooyoung is okay with that.

Confused, but okay.

"But I need you to know that me saying all that doesn't mean I don't have feelings for you. Because I do, and I don't expect anything from you now that I've said it. I just needed to be honest about it, okay?"

Somehow, Wooyoung didn’t think this would actually happen. That San would be saying that to him. That San would actually return his feelings. That they’ve both been pining like complete idiots. He had hoped, yes, but it was like a pipe dream. Just the slightest bit out of reach, enough that he had never expected it would _actually_ happen. And he might be dreaming, he’s not completely ruling that out, but giddiness is expanding in his chest like a balloon.

“You like me?”

“Yes,” San says and the smile has reached the corner of his eyes now, scrunching them up all soft and affectionate. His dimples are visible in the morning light. “I do.”

“I like you too,” Wooyoung repeats because apparently that’s a thing he gets to say now. He wants to say it some more, but he has more important priorities. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” San says.

_Finally._

Wooyoung sits up, leans in, and their mouths press against each other. It lacks finesse, but it's slow and deep. Nothing chaste about it. San tastes like himself and his toothpaste and he’s awkwardly leaning into San but he finds that he kind of likes it. San's mouth is hot and perfect against his own but if he was being honest, he likes it. It's perfect and honestly, it feels like coming home. 

It finally feels right. 

Thinking, _damn, I made it_.

It's hard breaking away from San, but the smile that he flashes at Wooyoung makes it worth it. 

“Does this mean you've finally gotten your shit together?” San teases, eyebrow arched.

“Yes,” Wooyoung says and wonders when he’s going to return to earth. Or if he really ever came down from last night's high. Maybe there will just be this floaty feeling in his chest forever. He hopes it will. “Fuck. I wanna date you."

"Good. Because I plan on dating you so fucking hard, loser." San's grin stretches across his whole face, dimples clear and bright, and he looks so happy and warm and good that Wooyoung has to kiss him again.

So he does.

It's even nicer the second time. 

It's even harder pulling away this time around.

It's silent for a bit, both of them more than comfortable to just look at each other and take it all in, smiling like idiots at each other. But it wouldn’t be Wooyoung if he didn’t ruin the moment, which is why the words come out before he even takes a second to convince himself not to.

Well, it's San’s problem now.

“So, like, as much as I liked that we just had a super serious nice Couple Conversation. About last night. Can we do that again?”

San snorts, and shakes his head, more than exasperated. He looks fond, though, so Wooyoung considers it a win. San leans down and presses a kiss against Wooyoung’s forehead, and it feels warm. “We can, but next time, we gotta talk about it before we do it, okay?”

Wooyoung pulls away a bit, and he can feel the familiar stirrings of excitement low in his belly, can feel the heat licking at his spine already. “Is that a promise, Sannie?” 

“Oh, sweetheart,” San laughs, and the sound is dark and low and it goes straight to Wooyoung’s dick. It was amazing how much control San had over him, even with one little word.

San reaches over and places a hand on Wooyoung’s cheek and drags his thumb down with what feels like deliberate slowness, until it reaches his lips. Wooyoung’s mouth drops open in a small gasp, and San pushes the digit between his lips. His voice is as low as his laugh had been. “I told you. I’m going to absolutely ruin you.”

And Wooyoung… isn’t going to complain about that.

(“Where is everyone?”

“They went to the studio a while ago.”

“Oh. Wait. Fuck, I’m supposed to be there too.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I—what do you mean, _no?”_

“I told them you were feeling sick, and Hongjoong-hyung told me to make sure you stay in bed so you can come back fast.”

“Great, because I don’t think I can do anything but crawl today.”

“A shame. I’d have liked to see that— _ow!_ ”

“You’d say that, you pervert.”

“I won’t deny it. Oh, by the way, Yeosang said you owe him for covering for us last night.”

“Last night?”

“He saw us asleep in your bed when he came home last night and slept in my bed instead. And also didn’t let Yunho ask any questions.”

“Fuck. He’s not gonna let me live this down, is he?”

“Nope.”

_“Fuck.”_

“Fuck indeed.”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i never post but find me on twitter: @s_uijin


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